Never Will
by Spliced-up-Angel
Summary: "Her stringy weave clogs up the drain while she stands naked under the shower head as she has been for nearly an hour...The head showers upon her beyond clean body like a rain storm, cleansing her deceptive soul with every thought that runs through her body." A very short LeShawna oneshot. Very angsty. Rated for context.


**Hey, everyone. ^^ This is just something short I wrote during English class. I felt that I haven't written enough for Harold or LeShawna, really. Although this isn't really LeHarold, it's something… Oh, yeah! It's AU, if you were wondering. They're both in their early twenties and have been together ever since they were sixteen. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Those who review get Jujubes. **

Never Will

Her stringy weave clogs up the drain while she stands naked under the shower head as she has been for nearly an hour. She makes no notion to leave the watery scene. She allows the warm liquid to drip from her dark weave and trails itself down her mocha skin. The head showers upon her beyond clean body like a rain storm, cleansing her deceptive soul with every thought that runs through her body. She feels the uncertainty of her lying feelings; she is with a man who she knows loves her more than anything, yet she cannot feel the need to requite the feelings.

In truth, the blunt feeling from his slender grasp has a strong grip on her voluptuous body. She feels unwell, yet she is not ill; hungry, but she is full; unsatisfied, but fed; cold, but the water that runs down her back is well over 30°C; she is alone, however he waits in the same spot behind the door. He is unmoved, totally aware of this. His timid, simple smile draws her to pretend. To pretend she loves him, without any real attraction towards him. She knows he will wait there forever, thinking of poems to recite to her, random crap she has no care for, preserving sweat filled kisses from the nerves that pump from his sweaty neck.

She brings up the courage, knowing that she could have so much better, so much more. She will break up with him and ignore his frown that is immensely full of distraught, then his denying smile. She will ignore his vigorous attempts to convince himself that she is lying and is merely being shy and ignore his crooked smile when he shows up at her doorstep a week later. She will disregard the love notes and freshly picked river lilies that he knows she loves too much. She'll forget entirely that he is a great guy who will do anything for her, just to shear every drop of guilt from her curvaceous body. She will discard all remorse for stabbing the simplistic man's heart one thousand times, the man who once sent those beautiful poems that were so full of chivalry when they were only sixteen. And finally, she will tell the one beauty that she had loved all along how she feels and not care what the answer is _or_ if they even remember her name!

The water is cold now, nearly freezing against her goose bumped skin. She enjoys the cold water. It feels like the winter ocean back home in the Caribbean. She needs not to look at the time to know that an hour has passed. She knows she should get out soon, but she is not ready to face him yet.

Alas, her thoughts will remain inside of her head. Once she turns off her cold frenzy, steps out of the shower, opens the door, and sees the timid geek before her, all will be forgotten. She will silently hug him and ask him how he is doing. Like always, he will not question why the water is cold and proceed to tell her how much he loves her. He will work hard to pay the water bills and still have enough to treat her to a romantic supper. She will accept it delicately and smile her face, motherly smile. She will call him by the nickname he adores and watch his freckled face turns to scarlet as his glasses fog up greatly. That night, she will give herself to him and not receive any satisfaction because no matter what, he will never fully receive her love.

She takes a deep breath and turns off the faucet, engulfed with the steamy residue. She steps out of the shower, closes the door, picks up her purple towel (with _Diva_ imprinted on it) and dries herself off. She pulls the towel around her body and opens the bathroom door. There he is. Standing in the doorway, just as he has for over an hour. He greets her with a smile and a "Hello, my sweet." She holds him tightly, feeling his warmth against her cold skin in all of her selfish glory.

"Hello, Harold."

"Ready for supper?"

"Yes, baby."

**Eh, how was it? Please R&R.**


End file.
